


Amputee

by microwaveslayer



Series: 33 Ocassions for TF2 Guro [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Gore, Guro, M/M, Nonconsentual violence, mentions of medical procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 17:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8632024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microwaveslayer/pseuds/microwaveslayer
Summary: Medic shows Classic Heavy his  excellent post-op, bedside manners.





	

The Classic Heavy came too slowly, feeling drugged and slow. For a long moment, he struggled to sit up, getting absolutely nowhere. He resigned himself to lay back on the cool metal under him. Cool metal meant he was in the infirmary, which meant the Medic had probably tried out some drug or another on him.  
“Medic,” he croaked. His throat felt too dry to do much else.  
“Oh.” The sound of something thick and meaty being dropped onto a countertop. “You weren’t out long at all.”  
Medic’s warm hands under his arms made the Classic Heavy relax, even if just slightly. Something about that Medic was off, wrong. With a grunt, Medic propped the older mercenary up, his wide, toothy grin blurred in the Heavy’s view. Everything was blurred and being sat up made him dizzy and sick for a moment.  
“There we are,” Medic said softly, a hand resting on the Heavy’s shoulder.  
“Can’t see.”  
“Of course.”  
The hand on his shoulder left, the Heavy shivering in the cold air of the infirmary. His hands felt numb. He had half a mind to scold the Medic.  
When the Medic cupped the Heavy’s face, he flinched.  
“You’re skittish,” Medic teased. “Trust me. I’ll take care of you.”  
The Heavy relaxed as the Medic put the goggles on, adjusting them.  
“How’s that?”  
The Classic Heavy had to blink a few times. Everything came into focus too suddenly for his liking and the light in his face made him scowl. He turned his head to scold the Medic, but his words caught in his throat, the only sound being a startled wheeze.  
The Medic was covered—from his chest down, from his hands to his elbows—in blood.  
“If you put one of those baboon—”  
“Oh no,” Medic said, grinning. He gave the older mercenary’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”  
Classic Heavy shifted, trying to move his left arm to shove the Medic off of him. Looking down, he gave another wheeze of terror.  
His arm ended cleanly above the elbow, wrapped in bandages. His right arm ended a bit higher and it itched.  
“You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” Medic asked, reaching over to run his fingers down the right stump. “I had the hardest time getting a clean break with that one. But, live and learn.”  
“You sick fuck,” Classic Heavy muttered. “Don’t you touch me.”  
Medic patted the Heavy’s shoulder. “I did better work with your legs.”  
“What did you do with my legs?” the older mercenary asked.  
“Well, I removed them. Your arms too,” the Medic said simply. “But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”  
“Get away from me!” He flailed, falling back onto the metal table.  
“You’re so clumsy,” Medic said softly, shaking his head. He propped the other mercenary up again. “You should get plenty of rest so you can heal.I’ll take care of all your needs now. Feeding. Bathing. Clothing.”  
“Why the hell would you think this is okay?”  
Medic blinks. “You wanted me to prove my loyalty to you.”  
“This isn’t loyalty,” the older mercenary says, voice cracking. “This is sick.”  
“As long as you don’t get an infection, it’ll be fine,” Medic said, turning away from him. “I have to dispose of some biological waste. Do you think you’ll be alright by yourself?”  
“Sick fuck.”  
Medic scooped up the severed limbs, sighing. “I think we’ll be happy together. I’ll take excellent care of you.”


End file.
